Luke Danes, Babysitter
by DSLeo
Summary: : An AU prequel, wherein Luke babysits, resulting in chaos, mayhem, fluff, stuff, and it's now a six-chapter by (sort of) request.
1. Chapter 1

Luke Danes, Babysitter

Disclaimer: We know, you know, they know. Not mine. Theirs.

Summary: An AU prequel, wherein Luke babysits, resulting in chaos, mayhem, and a call to Wonder Woman, with fluffy results.

AN: For PurryCat.

GG GG GG

The desk phone at the Independence Inn rang. Glaring at Michel, who had turned his back on aforementioned telephone in order to flip through the latest Sharper Image catalogue, Lorelai Gilmore snatched up the receiver before the dreaded fourth ring. By that one, people were not going to be in a mood to book a room, but might hang up after a few choice words.

"Independence Inn, this is Lorelai, how may I…"

"Lorelai?" squawked a muffled, desperate baritone. "It's me."

"Hello, me, how can I help me today?"

Michel rolled his eyes, muttered in French, and ambled off to, presumably, dust his loafers.

"Stop…Ing…Ound!"

"Luke?" asked Lorelai, genuinely concerned. "Hey, what is it, what's wrong? Are you in a closet or something?"

"Yes!"

Few things rendered Lorelai speechless, mostly because speech gave her time to think, which gave her time to plan, which gave her time, which gave her… Speech.

"Wait, _what_? Where are you?"

"Your house!"

"My house," said Lorelai forbiddingly. She was not that long ago the proud signer of a mortgage on that house, and while she called it the Crap Shack with love, nobody else could use _that_ tone of voice about _her_ house. "And why…"

"Look, you'd know, right?"

"Know what?" cried Lorelai, increasingly bewildered, and that was saying quite a lot for a woman whose childhood had included appropriate knowledge of six forks, four spoons, and three knives, at any given place setting. Not much could bewilder someone who knew that by age five.

"How to get this door open!"

"What… Never mind, I'm coming over."

Lorelai hung up, glanced around to be sure no guests would hear, and yelled, " _Michel get your snooty French derriere back here right now_!"

" _Mai oui_ , my dear personal Hitler, how may I serve you?" drawled Michel. He ambled across the lobby carrying what looked to be a flawless cappuccino in an inn that had a cappuccino machine best known for making armpit noises.

Lorelai pointed imperiously. "Cover. Desk. Or. Lose. Job."

"Problems, my dear Lorelai?"

"Apparently, someone is locked into my house," said Lorelai, snatching her purse and coat out of the office.

"Wait, you mean locked _out_."

"No, I really don't," said Lorelai, and left a mystified Michel wondering what was going on, and where precisely his cappuccino had gone. The latter, naturally, was a very silly question. It was a coffee drink in vicinity of Lorelai. Those disappeared more regularly than ships entering the Bermuda Triangle.

GG GG GG

Lorelai unlocked her front door, wielding both heeled shoes in one hand as a makeshift weapon.

"Someone's been eating my porridge," she muttered to bolster her courage, although the truth was that they were watching her television (at the loudest possible volume), and squealing laughter in between what Lorelai profoundly prayed were sound effects.

She opened the door, yelling, "Heeeee- _yah_!"

A naked boy of about ten stopped bouncing on her couch. He dropped the box of Sugar-Coated Sugar Flakes. The floor, couch, and half the knick-knacks were already covered in them. He stared at her with huge dark eyes, dark curling hair standing on end, and screeched.

Lorelai clapped her hands to her ears, forgetting her shoes, and nearly gave herself an eardrum-ectomy by way of secondhand Nine Wests. Indignity enough of itself without a terrified naked boy-child streaking into her laundry room and slamming the door.

She looked at her watch, and slid her shoes back onto her feet. "Okay. That's definitely not Rory. She'd never leave school before the last bell, and she's going to study with Lane until supper. And why am I telling myself what I know? Right, shock. And my mother thought _I_ was a handful."

A faint thudding was heard. Lorelai wondered if the child knew the laundry room door opened outward, wedged a chair under it just in case, and followed the angry thumps to her bedroom.

To her closet.

"Oh boy," she sighed, and glared at the offending door. She called, "Stop it!"

The thumping stopped.

She twisted the doorknob completely to the right, while shoving her hip against the door, and followed that with a brisk palm-swat to the trim.

The door swung open.

Luke Danes, covered in her clothing, toppled against her.

"…hell…?" he managed.

"I never shut it because it takes Houdini to open it, and it's not lefty-loosey, it's righty-mighty."

"That makes no sense," spat the diner owner, face red under a day's stubble. "Where's my hat?"

She picked up a battered ball cap and passed it to him. "You might want to get my good slip off first."

Luke all but levitated as he snatched a thin silky beige garment off his head. He held it between thumb and forefinger. "What. Is. This. For?!"

Lorelai swallowed her laughter, but the smirk could not be avoided, much as she tried. "It's a slip. They go under unlined skirts, for the sake of propriety, comfort, and in this climate, extra warmth in winter."

"It looks…" Luke scrunched up his face in disgust, revealing a family resemblance to the naked kid in her laundry room. "Sexy."

Blushing, perhaps from the way he implied so much while saying so little, Lorelai snapped, "Oh for… It's nude!"

Luke flung away the slip. "I didn't need to hear that!"

"That's the color description!"

"What? Who calls a color nude? That means nothing on! So it's not any color! It should be called skin!"

Lorelai skipped to the point. She had not known Luke Danes very long, although she'd heard the name for a few years. Mia mentioned him as a friend's adult child, a few others mentioned a diner named Luke's with good coffee, and that had led her eventually to the door under the sign reading "William's Hardware". Which, all things considered, made as much sense for a diner as the description "nude" did for "beige". He was nice, he was immune to her (self-admittedly clumsy) flirting, and he never charged for Rory's food. Lorelai could nurse many cups of coffee with free refills while watching her daughter eat, and none the wiser but herself and the irate diner owner in her bedroom. She could endure a rant or ten for all that, but she had more immediate concerns than pondering the kindness of Luke Danes.

"Why is there a naked kid in my house?"

Luke stopped mid-rant about asinine color monikers. "Naked?"

Mimicking his posture, arms folded, foot set to tap, Lorelai narrowed her blue eyes on his and said, "Yep."

Luke abruptly turned away from her, and started picking up clothing, willy-nilly. "Um, let me clean this up. It's, um, do I need to dry clean anything? I mean, it's not a big closet, with too much stuff, and that's not my business, what you have in your closet…"

"Do I look like I can afford a dry cleaning bill?"

Luke's shoulders hunched. "Uh."

"Drop the clothes, they're all wash-and-go, once we get the junior nudist out of my laundry room, I can fluff it all in the dryer, it'll be fine."

"Oh geez, Lorelai, I'm sorry," said Luke wearily and gently placed the armload of her clothing on her bed. "He's my sister's kid. She's got… Uh…"

"Problems," Lorelai interjected kindly, and pointed. "C'mon, tell me downstairs."

"Thank God," said Luke in a mumble. Offended that her bedroom was such distasteful territory for a male of the species, Lorelai stuck out her tongue. Sadly, Luke did not see it, being halfway down the stairs.

When she arrived in the living room, Luke stood amidst the carnage. His dark blue eyes hit hers in a look of utter despair.

"Porch."

Luke went to her porch, commenting, "I need to fix that railing. And that step is loose again."

"Okay, first, no, you don't _need_ to do anything, and second, talk, mister. I know that's asking a lot of you, but…"

"He's Jess. My sister's kid. He's Jess," blurted Luke, pacing the dirt path from porch to parked jeep and back. "She's doing seventy-two hours on a psychiatric hold for her damn drinking again, and he showed up on the bus with a note first thing this morning, and he wouldn't eat eggs and toast, who doesn't eat eggs and toast, even I eat eggs and toast, okay, egg whites and toast, if it's whole grain stone-ground flour and there's no butter…"

"Wow," said Lorelai in wonder, "you _do_ come unglued."

"Then he asked why the orange juice tasted like _fruit_ , what the hell is it supposed to taste like?"

"Tang," said Lorelai.

Luke stopped his gesturing and walking, forehead knotting up. "Fruit has a tangy flavor."

"No, the astronaut drink. Tang. Powder in a can, add water, poof, instant, um, well, orange stuff," said Lorelai patiently. "You've never had a kid around before, have you. As in, had to take care of one for more than ten minutes."

Luke's mouth opened, then shut. He shook his head.

"Oh boy. She doesn't cook?"

He shook his head again, twisting his ball cap. The gesture of frustration was becoming quickly familiar to Lorelai.

"And she sent him here on a bus alone overnight from wherever she is."

"Geez, Lorelai, this isn't your problem…"

"Not my monkey, no, but the house _is_ my circus," sighed Lorelai, and pointed him to the steps. "Sit. C'mon. You're having parent panic. I know it well."

Luke sat. Luke heaved in air, and when Lorelai smacked his back, it all rushed out in a "Hey!"

"Sorry, but if you don't _exhale_ , you can't _inhale_. I read a book on Lamaze when I was pregnant. Didn't do me any good, but the breathing stuff was interesting."

"Did you see how skinny he is?" whispered Luke, head in hands, elbows on knees.

Lorelai rubbed small slow circles on his upper back. It worked with Rory, and she had a feeling the distress here was similar, even if Luke was a few decades past a case of colic. "Shh."

"He was filthy, his clothes were covered in… I had to get them off him and wash them, they weren't even… And I think he has flea bites."

The last tiny broken whisper shot Lorelai through the heart. "Oh no."

"She never calls except when she needs bail, I don't see her, we don't… she's… I didn't know it was that bad. I didn't _ask_."

She hugged him sideways, chin on his shoulder as she hummed a crooning note, again a sure-fire Rory-soother. By the tension level of Luke's muscles, it worked on him, too.

"He screamed when I told him he was getting a shower. He _screamed_. And ran. And he ended up here. You should lock your back door."

"Broken," said Lorelai by rote.

"I'll fix it," said Luke, meaning much more than the door. "He locked me in your closet. I'll… It's… Why didn't he want a shower? Did something _happen_ to him?"

"He's a male."

"What?"

"Girls have that phase too sometimes," Lorelai explained patiently, and shifted to allow her back-rubbing hand some rest. "No bathing. Rory hit it when she was four, I had to use pink soap, pink bath water, pink towels…"

Baffled, Luke asked, "How'd you find all that stuff in pink?"

"Soap was easy, the bath water was a drop or two of food coloring, and the towels were leftovers from the inn, someone threw them into the load of wash with the servers' vests, and that's why Mia got rid of the vests, because after that, the towels were pink and the vests were sort of… Um… Sorry, I know you hate silly color names, but all I got is 'flaming disaster'."

Luke chuckled roughly, and straightened, visibly giving himself a shake. "Yeah, that covers it. Okay. Food?"

"Disguise it. Sookie helped me out on this one, I couldn't figure out how to get Rory to eat anything but pasta for about two months."

Astonished, Luke protested, "Rory? She never fusses."

Lorelai snorted. "Yeah, well, you know her now. Try her age four. Five. She'd give my mother a run for the money. Wrong color, wrong smell, wrong wrong wrong. Anyway, how old is… Jess?"

"Eleven."

Lorelai frowned. "He's a little small."

"Hey!" yipped Luke, indignant on behalf of all men everywhere at that description.

"For his age," laughed Lorelai. "By the way, the color you're turning is called _puce_."

Growling, Luke subsided. "Food?"

"Kids eat anything covered in cheese. Or cheese-type powdery stuff. Sookie would give me really finely chopped broccoli and I'd sneak it into the boxed macaroni and cheese."

"That stuff isn't good food for a kid."

Rolling her eyes, Lorelai gritted, "I'm aware, but I used real milk and real cheese, I just let Rory see the box so she'd…"

"Oh!" exclaimed Luke, light belatedly dawning. He grinned. "Devious."

Lorelai flushed, smoothing her skirt with her palms, eyes downcast. "Parenting is a long process of learning you're an idiot, and finding ways to keep your kid from figuring that out."

"Hey."

Lorelai looked up reluctantly.

Luke said solemnly, "You're not an idiot. You're a great mom. Now how do we get my nephew out of your laundry room and into a shower?"

"Watch and learn, Grasshopper."

"Geez," said Luke but it was reflex.

"Luke. Think. It's July. It's hot. What did _you_ like to do when you were a kid?"

"Play ball, go swimming, run through the…" Luke grimaced, nearly face-palming. "Run through the lawn sprinkler."

"The other big trick to child care is to never forget what you did as a kid," Lorelai said, "and pray your kid does better. Okay, you get the hose, I'll be out in a minute."

GG GG GG

Some ten minutes later, Lorelai was dressed in a swimsuit (faded) and shorts (also faded) and squealing as Luke hit her with the mist of the garden hose. A few times, Luke let himself take a solid cold splash from a water pistol, his face shouting that he felt completely ridiculous when he wasn't laughing.

The back door opened. A small naked boy crept outside.

He watched with bright eyes.

At last, he accused, "You locked me in!"

"You broke into my house," countered Lorelai and squirted at him, missing deliberately. She then ignored his presence to taunt Luke.

The boy slid closer and closer to his uncle, who had shed his flannel shirt and draped it over a long-suffering flower bush of some unknown variety.

He tugged at his uncle's jeans. Lorelai hid a smirk and then yelped as Luke twisted the hose nozzle from _spray_ to _blasting jets of ice_.

"Hey, Jess," said Luke, very neutrally, while Lorelai nodded approval.

"Can I play?" he asked softly.

"Sure," said Luke. "Wanna help wash the jeep?"

"You have a jeep?"

"Lorelai does."

"Girls drive jeeps?"

"That one does."

"That's cool," said Jess, affecting nonchalance, rather difficult to attain in one's birthday suit.

"Hey, what's the next game?" asked Lorelai, bounding up as if she had no clue.

"Jeep."

"I'll get the bucket and sponge and stuff."

Some twenty minutes later, Jess was coated in soap and water, the jeep was being washed in Mr. Bubble that Lorelai hastily tore the label from lest Jess read it, and Jess was very happily not noticing the sponge war between the adults caught him in the crossfire often enough that he was squeaky clean.

Draped in his uncle's flannel shirt, he sat on the porch steps with a peanut butter sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. He drank the milk with a sour face, eyes stuck on the cellophane-encased snack cake that was clearly to be his reward.

Safely out of view courtesy Lorelai's jeep, Luke sagged in exhaustion. "Geez! No wonder you need so much coffee. How the hell do you do it?"

Toweling her curls, Lorelai said simply, "It's funny what you do for love."

When she tossed aside the towel, Luke was staring at her as if he'd received a Divine Revelation.

"What? Bubbles on my face?"

"No," said Luke, "there's absolutely nothing wrong with your face."

For the second time in a day, Lorelai was speechless.

Then Jess's voice broke into the moment. "Ew! Are you gonna _kiss_?"

"No," said Luke, smiling, and ruffled his nephew's damp curls. "Not yet. Maybe after our first date."

Eyes wide, Lorelai wheezed in a noise rather like "Meep?"

"Oh, okay," said Jess, shrugging. "Am I in trouble?"

"Nope."

"Should I help clean up?"

"Yep."

"You're really not gonna kiss, right? That's gross."

Over Jess's head, Lorelai answered firmly, "Maybe after our first date."

GG GG

AN: No point, just fluff. Fluffy fluffety fluff fluffiness. LL early and often!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We all know it's theirs. If you don't recognize it, then it might be mine. Maybe.

AN: Okay, due to a couple of requests, and the delicious wonder of the potential, I had to go ahead and try a second chapter. Or five. Yikes.

Important Notice: I am **ignoring** the timeline sorta kinda maybe established by the show. Too many inconsistencies.

All of which to say: Rory is pushing ten, Jess is about eleven, and let the rest of it go from there.

GG GG GG

A first date was not a first for Lorelai. A _second_ date would be entering new territory. That whole "I have a kid" comment on Date One led to the lack of Date Two, even if her schedule managing the inn, her difficulty finding a trustworthy babysitter, and her general paranoia of somehow screwing up Rory's life didn't get in the way to begin with.

Other people ran obstacle courses for fitness. Lorelai ran one in her head every morning in order to get out of bed.

She looked between her two best dresses. Luke had been correct about her stuffed-to-the-gills closet. Half the clothes were rummage sale or Goodwill, awaiting alteration or new buttons. The other half were everything she owned from age sixteen onward. She couldn't afford to throw them out. Old t-shirts made good pajamas. Old dress shirts could be cut down for Rory. Ditto skirts and pants.

 _Waste not_ wasn't so much an adage as a lifestyle for twenty-something Lorelai.

Rubbing her bare arms, she studied her two best dresses. One was a deep blue, swirled to below her knees, and covered her arms to the elbows. The other was the Classic Little Black Dress of legend. When her mother had bought it for her, of course, she'd been two inches shorter, and it had not been so much the _little_ dress as the _hits the knee appropriately_ dress. Both would go well with her silver heels, formerly a pair of discarded white satin bridal pumps she'd tricked out with metallic fabric paint.

She bit her lip, eyes ticking from the blue to the black and back again. "Oh God," she moaned, and sat down hopelessly in her bra and hose. (No slip. Neither dress required one, and it was, after all, July.)

The black dress held memories. Her mother had bought it _for_ her, which made it evil. It was, however, authentic Armani. That made it good. It was ten years out of date. Evil. It was a lovely empire-waisted number with discreet beading at the band, useful for hiding blossoming figures, and therefore now fit quite nicely at breast and hip. Good. She'd once worn it early in her pregnancy, and her baby bump had gone unnoticed. Which was both evil and good. And finally, she had yet to wear it on a date with anyone. It had been reflex to pack it, when she'd snuck back to the Gilmore mansion many years ago, to retrieve anything of hers she couldn't carry out in the original suitcase. That made it good, too. It reminded her of freedom. And her parents. Evil.

The blue dress brought out her eyes. Good. She had worn it on three first dates with men who never spoke to her again. Evil. It was the dress that she'd worn when swearing off dating. Evil.

She muffled an "Argh!" into her pillow, put both dresses away, and took out an old maternity dress. Sleeveless, billowy to hide burgeoning hips that summer before Rory's birth, in a pretty pale blue with white trim. Frowning, Lorelai scrambled in a drawer, twisted together two filmy scarves in similar colors, and cinched the dress at the waist, deciding of her reflection, "Voila! Instant peasant chic!"

Shoving her feet into cheap white sandals, she snatched up her bag, and only at the last moment remembered to apply lipstick.

"Hey, doll face," crooned Babette, who was perched on the couch with Rory and Jess, "you look gorgeous."

"Yeah, Mom, you're pretty," said Rory, smiling.

Jess rolled his eyes and grunted. "Whatever."

Babette waggled her eyebrows. "So, you and Luke both need a babysitter the same night?"

"Wonders never cease," chirped Lorelai, "and I'll be back by ten. Probably nine, but definitely ten."

"Sheesh, not much of a date."

"I'm going out with a friend to…" Lorelai hesitated, scowling a little as she tried to buffer the potential for disaster. "Well, you know. Get out. Do something different."

Jess volunteered, "Uncle Luke has a date. He was wearing a tie."

Babette's eyes lit up in delight. "Oh, a tie?"

Luke in a tie brought up a surge of tender excitement. To cover her blush that he'd abandoned flannel for her, Lorelai kissed Rory, who was deep in a book and barely noticed. "Be good, sweets."

"Aw, she's always good," said Babette fondly, though the Gilmores hadn't been her neighbors for half a year. "Jess, here, now he better be good, or I'll have to tickle him."

Jess vaulted over the back of the couch, landing in a feral crouch, shocking both adult women.

"No tickling," he stated firmly.

"Okay, then, no tickling," said Lorelai lightly, and cast Babette a quick stern look. In the week or so since Jess's arrival, she had learned he wasn't a cuddling tactile kid like Rory. In fact, the way he skulked reminded her of her mother's maids, always braced for the next reprimand. "Jess, help yourself to Rory's book collection…"

"He already has Dickens, Mom," said Rory, immersed in the adventures of Anne in Avonlea. "Have a good time!"

Lorelai swallowed. Saying yes to the date was easy. Walking out the door was proving to be difficult. "Are you sure it's…"

"Lorelai," groaned Babette, "they're fed, they're clean, they've got books, I've got TV, Morey's next door, go be young and beautiful while you can!"

Lorelai forced a smile, stepped onto her porch, and found herself mid-anxiety attack.

"In two three out hoof hoof hoof," she mumbled, and the modified Lamaze count slowed her heart rate. She put up her head, threw back her shoulders, and walked briskly to her jeep.

"Hey."

She squealed, stumbling backwards, and dropped against her bubble-bathed vehicle. "Luke! You scared me!"

"Oh."

They stood in silence. Lorelai decided clean-shaven Luke in a shirt and tie looked yummy, if not quite comfortable. She had no idea what Luke thought of her, but his eyes seemed to hold a certain appreciative glow when he finally raised them back up to her face. "Wow," he said.

Lorelai smiled in giddy relief. "I thought… You said to keep it quiet and…"

"Truck's at the corner. Babette's the worst… Second-worst… "

"I know, Eastside Tilly, Babette, Miss Patty," recited Lorelai with mock seriousness. "The three women never to be told, because they already know. Mia briefed me when I moved."

"Good for Mia." He reached out and offered her his hand. "Thanks. For saying yes."

Unaccountably flustered, Lorelai blushed pinker than roses. "Thank you for asking."

GG GG GG

A few hours later, Lorelai giggled on the steps of the diner, "I can't believe Luke has a Luke's! Sniffy's was _wonderful_! And Buddy and Maisy, they're amazing! And the food!" She moaned in ecstasy. "I couldn't get enough!"

"I know," replied Luke pointedly, "you ate half my dessert."

"It was carrot cake, that's not dessert, that's salad with icing on top."

Luke burst into a laugh, stopping her with a gentle touch before she sat down at the counter. "Hey. This has been… Fantastic. You're fantastic."

Going mushy in the region of her heart, Lorelai murmured, "You're pretty awesome yourself, Butch."

He scratched at his shirt collar. "Ah geez, I can't believe Maisy told you that."

Lorelai batted her eyelashes. "Sorry, _Lucas_. We girls gotta do what we do."

His hands rested on her shoulders, slid down her arms, and took her fingers in his. "I like what you do. For someone who never shuts up…"

"Ouch," sighed Lorelai, not entirely without humor.

"You listen better than anyone I know," Luke concluded.

Squirming nervously inside, Lorelai waited for the next moment. Kiss? Hug? Fond farewell? Let's-be-friends? See-you-later? Whatever it would be, she hoped it would not be, "Hey, you're obviously a slut, since you had a kid at sixteen, so upstairs to bed and let's do the nasty."

Luke released her hands and said, around a slight cough, "I should, uh, get you home. On time. And all that. In case Rory beats me up."

Unsure if she was happy, disappointed, or amused, Lorelai stood blank-faced. "Oh. Okay. So, uh, what did you want to show me? Your stereo?"

Luke tripped over his own feet, reddening to his hairline, and sputtered, "Geez! No, I wanted to show you _this_."

She followed his gesture around the counter, and gasped. "What's… That's… Nails?"

Luke did not quite touch the words left unmarred by paint or cleansers or time. "My dad wrote this. He couldn't find paper, and… I didn't have the heart to paint over it, so I gave it a coat of varnish to protect it. When I see it…"

"You feel him here," murmured Lorelai in awe.

"Yeah. And I remember that as frustrated as I can get with Kirk or Taylor or…"

"Anyone," interjected Lorelai softly, resting her head on his shoulder briefly to let him know she was listening.

"My dad had his days, too," concluded Luke simply. "Where he ended up writing on a wall to keep it all going." With that, Luke cleared his throat raggedly, and stood, helping her balance with an outstretched hand.

"That's beautiful," said Lorelai quietly, and squeezed his fingers with her own. "I wish I had stories like that with my dad. After I started school, he pretty much left me alone. I know he was busy, and making all the money and all that, but… I missed him. I missed being his little girl. I missed him reading me stories. He'd never read me boring ones," she continued, abashed, and shaking herself into a defiant toss of her head. "He read me Dante for Halloween until I was six. And Rudyard Kipling, all the talking animals, he'd do voices."

"What changed?" Luke reflexively double-checked coffee pots and cash register before rejoining her in the open space between tables and upturned chairs.

"I don't know. Nobody told me."

"Like when Mom died," said Luke with such abrupt sharpness that Lorelai winced for his pain. "She was there. Then she was gone. Nobody ever told us. Dad didn't _say_. We just lost her. And by high school, Liz was already falling apart, but… Ah, geez, I dunno. Dad and I were good at yelling at her, not much else, y'know?"

"Parent panic," joked Lorelai delicately, and awkwardly shifted her weight, wishing he would kiss her or tell her to kiss off, and be done. She wanted the date to end for no better reason than finding out if she could ever have another evening as perfect as this one.

"Huh. Never thought of that." Luke ran a hand over his hair, then loosened his tie. "Look, about Jess. I can't thank you enough. And, uh, I was wondering what you think about, well, I wouldn't let a cat go back to that, but I don't know what to do. How do you handle it with Rory's dad?"

"He doesn't care," said Lorelai flatly, her fizzy mood going staler than week-old donuts. "He came to see her when she turned five, and I've bought her presents and signed his name ever since."

Luke scowled darkly at the absent Christopher Hayden. "Not even child support?"

Lorelai snorted laughter. "What, disgrace the family name by daring imply the Haydens raised a deadbeat?"

Glaring, Luke snarled, "And they don't give you a dime, either. What kind of…"

In that heartbeat, Lorelai broke every dating rule she had set for herself in the scant years she'd tried to date. Nothing but a kiss or two on a first date? Forget that. Luke could have the whole package. He'd utterly melted her. Her head was fuzz. Her heart was a rapid-pattering wobble of jelly. Signed, sealed, deliver, she was his.

Then the diner door opened.

GG GG GG

The woman who entered turned Lorelai's stomach, and blood, to ice.

She was dark-haired, with curls, no less, and vivid blue eyes. She had a dazzling smile and a confident walk. In fact, she walked right up to Luke and said firmly, "Good, I caught you."

Lorelai snatched up her purse. She began edging back from the pair, chest a riot of conflicting emotions, all of them ugly.

"It's been two weeks, you haven't called."

Luke's face turned the color Lorelai knew as _puce_ , but might re-name _Stone-Cold-Busted-Luke-Danes_. "Uh. Yeah. Uh." He nervously rubbed his neck. "Uh, look, it's just… It was a…"

"It was what?" asked the almost-Lorelai, who was wearing a much newer and nicer dress than Lorelai herself. Dropping her eyes, Lorelai then discovered the woman could afford better shoes, too. It was definitely unfair.

"Anna, c'mon, you said it yourself…"

"I said I'm busy!" snapped the not-Lorelai named Anna. "I didn't say don't call! "

Humiliation swelled up in Lorelai's chest. Another No-Second-Date, for such a reason, warranted a good long wallow with her secret stash of chocolate chips and Mallomars. Fortunately for her, she kept that stash in her desk at the inn, which meant she could wallow _and_ deal with invoices, thereby salving her pride without harm to her paycheck.

"Wait!" barked Luke.

Lorelai stopped her creep toward the door.

"Uh, Lorelai, this is Anna, from Woodbridge, she owns a store…"

"Boutique!" sniped Anna from Woodbridge, hands on hips. "An eclectic _boutique_!"

Luke's eyes shut briefly. "There was this Better Business Bureau thing."

"It was a day-long seminar on maximizing word-of-mouth advertising, and it was the Chamber of Commerce," corrected Anna from Woodbridge haughtily. "Who or what is _she_ , Luke?"

Nettled beyond hurt into anger, Lorelai snapped, "Lorelai Gilmore, manager of the Independence Inn, and one of the first rules of good word-of-mouth advertising is to not care if someone calls it a shop or a boutique, as long as they mention it at all."

Two sets of blue eyes glowered at each other in the manner of natural enemies, as lions against hyenas, and Lorelai cast herself as the lioness. Certainly not the yapping hyena with the better wardrobe.

Luke coughed a very embarrassed, "We went out to dinner a couple times, that's all."

"Dinner and _breakfast_ ," snarled Anna from Woodbridge. "And then you don't even _call_ for two weeks! What is that supposed to mean!"

"Men are pigs," offered Lorelai sincerely, near tears that she'd been about to break her own dating rules. For a man who had another woman. She had never felt such a fool in her life, an impressive feat for a woman who had, at age fifteen, actually believed Chris Hayden loved her, and at nineteen that he'd meant it when he said he'd make things right, and at twenty-one that he'd keep the promise to see Rory every three months at least, but never seen her since.

"I was drunk!" yelped Luke at Anna. "And I didn't say I'd call!"

"Oh yes you did!" yelled Anna.

Lorelai reached the door, praying for fresh air and a wake-up call that meant this was a nightmare.

A redhead burst into the diner, dropped a huge backpack nearly on Lorelai's toes, and slid her arms around Luke from behind. "Hey, how's it going?"

Luke paled to the color of spoiled milk. His eyes darted frantically in search of escape.

"Oh my God," gasped Lorelai, "how many girlfriends are you trying to have?"

Luke may have mouthed, "One," but it was lost in the three-way sputter of female indignation.

"Wait, he's dating you?" said both the redhead and Anna, turning to study her in narrow-eyed anger.

" _No_ ," spat Lorelai. "Definitely _not_."

"Rachel," said Luke to the redhead, as he backed away from all three women, reaching behind him to feel his way. Or, perhaps, to find a shield. "Hey. You didn't, uh, you never… Hi, why don't you go upstairs?"

The gorgeous redhead flipped her gorgeous red hair and smiled sweetly at the other two women, stared hard at Luke, and moved with quick athletic grace toward the stairs that led to Luke's apartment.

"Oh my God," said Lorelai again, as everything she'd ever eaten in life threatened a return appearance, particularly the carrot cake.

Anna from Woodbridge, unattractively scarlet across her enviable cheekbones, slapped Luke hard enough to bring Lorelai's hand to her own face in brief sympathy.

She hissed a word under her breath as she passed Lorelai. Much as she disliked that word, Lorelai offered a hasty, "Good hit."

"Should've aimed lower," growled Anna from Woodbridge, and stomped into the night.

"Lorelai, wait," said Luke, but his head was turned toward the stairs.

"I'll keep Jess overnight," Lorelai told him in a brittle, icy voice, clutching her purse tight. "So you and your _girlfriend_ can have some time alone."

She marched out of the diner.

Her resolve carried her into her house, but on the porch as she bid Babette a terse good-night and thanks, the older women grated under her breath, "Bad date, huh?"

"Only after I found out he has two girlfriends in line ahead of me," replied Lorelai, and leaned on the much shorter woman with a shudder. "Oh God, Babette, what's wrong with me? I almost never go out, and when I do, it's always…"

"Oh sugar," crooned Babette, reaching up to pat her shoulder. "I know. Before Morey, I sang a lot of songs off-key, ya know? You'll get your maestro!" Then, all discretion forgotten, she bellowed, "Morey! I'm comin' home!"

Lorelai slipped back inside. Rory was curled asleep in her own bed, and Jess was sprawled on the couch, a book on his chest. Lorelai tip-toed upstairs, where she could cry herself to sleep in peace.

GG GG GG

AN: Where's the humor? Where's the romance? Why did I mention Anna? I can only answer that last question. I just had to throw it in there to, well, be a brat. And to put Luke in the position the conflicting timelines might, which is right between three women. Oh _snap_!

For the youngsters, "Come up and check out my stereo" is a clichéd, hackneyed and horribly true line of chat once used by men to lure women. Sort of like "Let's play with my Wii" in the more modern era, but not quite as forward as "Netflix and chill".


	3. Chapter 3

Babysitter3

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Set it to music... Not mine!

AN: Now, for a different look at the case of Luke Danes, Babysitter. Please keep in mind this is AU. As in I'm making it up. As in non-canon. BTW, I can't seem to keep one POV for a multi-chap. This is why I do one-shots, folks.

GG GG GG

Jess Mariano sat on the landing outside the office door still labeled _Office_ , although the place was an apartment over a diner in a building called a hardware store.

Nothing in Stars Hollow was labeled correctly, as far as Jess was concerned.

Take his uncle, which Jess did, since he was a thousand times less unpredictable than his mother. Luke was clumsy with words, but he had given the bed to Jess and taken over the couch. For Jess, that meant quite a lot, given the man had only one room to live in, bathroom excluded. That wasn't an uncle thing. That was supposed to be a parent thing, taking the couch.

He excluded Rory's mom Lorelai from the bitterness of that. She had a good couch, for one thing, and for another, she didn't have to let him stay the night, soundly asleep, in a house that was quiet and smelled of cleaners and perfume and coffee. There was a lot of comfort in such an environment, for Jess. No traffic noises, no screeching voices, no vomiting, no shouting to get his butt out of the way.

When he woke up, frightened and hostile because of the unfamiliar surroundings, he'd heard singing start, a cheerful little song of some kind. Rory's mother had then offered him Tang and a toaster pastry to hold him over until he could shower, and brush his teeth. She had provided him with a goofy Mickey Mouse toothbrush, cinnamon toothpaste, and a plain green t-shirt to wear. The soap had been sort of irritating, being pink, but the smell had faded quickly. When he'd come out of the shower, he'd found his underwear had been freshened with a dash of baby powder. It was a gesture that on one hand irked him. He was no baby. On the other, he couldn't believe she'd done something that _nice_.

Then, when he was certain breakfast had been the orange drink and toaster pastry, she had sung out that it was time for pancakes. He'd watched in awe as she confidently bossed his uncle's employee into chocolate chip pancakes for him, for Rory, and herself, with eggs on the side, and _bacon_. It was a week of breakfasts for Jess, and yet it was all his for _one_ meal. He'd been terrified for a moment that he had to share, but Lorelai dug into her stack, and Rory into _hers_ , and Jess dove into his with glee after that. They were chatting, not snarling. They were feeding him, not rushing him. They were letting him stay silent, not criticizing him. Jess hadn't had a breakfast like that in his life.

All in all, Jess's third favorite person in Stars Hollow was definitely Lorelai Gilmore. Rory came in second, because no other girl, or boy for that matter, read Dickens voluntarily. She had an extensive vocabulary, had a long list of books to read that often overlapped his own, and was willing to argue that her girly books had value as much as the adventures he enjoyed. Jess respected that.

His uncle, naturally, ranked first. Yet he wasn't certain what to do about his uncle, because right now some strange woman was in there arguing with his uncle, and it didn't sound _good_.

"…the hell, Luke? Since when do you sleep on the _couch_ my first night back!"

Jess wished Lorelai and Rory hadn't left. All that summer school stuff Rory did made her a complete and total loser and geek and nerd, but it did give her somewhere to go. Field trips, and picnics, and classes about things like how to make a newspaper, and how to collect and identify plants or rocks. It was something her friend Lane Kim did, too. Eight weeks of extra school was blasphemy to Jess, but at the moment, he'd have traded all this for _regular_ school. Dull, brain-numbing homework included.

"Rachel, not now."

"Yes, _now_!"

"Jess will be home and…"

Jess hiccupped. _Home_? This was home? Since when was quiet-clean-boring-safe his _home_?

"Who was she?"

"I told you, I had too much to drink, so I slept it off! On the bathroom floor!"

"You never have too much to drink!"

"You would if you had to sit through her talking about up-selling," snapped his uncle, and Jess relaxed. No way the Gilmore mom would talk about that stuff. Also, it was good to hear his uncle didn't get drunk on a regular basis. Jess really hated the stink of alcohol after it had passed through a human body, by whatever means. "Look, we had dinner after the seminar, okay? Then she invited me over to talk more shop, or boutique, or whatever the hell it is with her, and it was drink wine or tell her to shut up in her own house! She gave me toast and juice the next morning, that was it!"

Long-time expert on men giving excuses to his mother, Jess recognized honesty when he heard it. Uncle Luke had not enjoyed his time with whatever person talked so much about shops.

"Fine, but what about the other one?"

Jess leaned closer to the door, holding his breath.

He heard nothing.

The woman, Rachel, sounded strange when she spoke. "She likes this town, doesn't she?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"What isn't?"

"Ah geez, Rachel, this again? If you hate it so much, then why come back?"

"I thought I had you to come back to!"

" _Why_?"

Jess huddled into a ball. He'd heard that sort of thing before. His father had demanded to know why his mother had tracked him across the country, and sent her back to New York, and never bothered again. It wasn't a clear memory, but it was perversely a painfully exact one. Jimmy Mariano didn't want Liz or Jess. He didn't want to be on the same _coast_ with them. This woman and Uncle Luke had the same issue. She didn't want to be in Stars Hollow, and he didn't see why he should budge. Making him, unfortunately, like Jimmy Mariano, as far as Jess could tell.

Rory Gilmore moved up half a notch on the list of Jess Mariano's Favorite People in Stars Hollow.

Rachel's voice was thick, unhappy. "I don't… I… We're… I thought what we have is worth… I thought…"

"You thought," snapped Luke brutally, with a slapping noise of cloth on a table, "that after a few years I'd get tired of running the diner and go off to Pongo Pongo or Timbuktu. And I do what? Cook over a campfire while you take photographs all day and night?"

" _Yes_!" cried Rachel, causing Jess to flinch in surprise. "Think of all the world you'd see and think of all the places you'd never know existed, and never having to worry about a roof or plumbing or…" Paper fluttered. " _Orders_."

"You haven't been here a day and we're having the same argument," interrupted Luke, his voice rough and pained, something like Jess's mother's when she'd had yet another disastrous fight with whichever boyfriend or boss.

"Luke, just give it a chance, you'll get over this, well, this _town_ …"

" _Stop_."

Jess, accustomed to that tone from men who had fists raised, froze mid-breath.

"Rachel," Luke went on, voice cracking as it dropped to a normal volume. "You say you're going to stay this time, but you don't want to _stay_. You want to stay long enough to talk me into leaving."

The thump bespoke a man dropping onto a couch. Or a woman. Jess exhaled softly, glad there was no violence. He understood that noise all too well, and this was not it. He sagged into a limp sprawl, wishing desperately that the adults would get through their angst so he could change into fresh underwear. Luke had bought him all kinds, and he could have briefs, boxers, plain or patterned. It was, Jess reluctantly admitted, sort of _cool_. His mother just bought the cheapest and that was it. He'd had to suffer Sesame Street briefs for a year that he hoped to forget someday.

"And you want to talk me into staying," accused Rachel.

The silence scorched.

"Oh," said Rachel, sounding shocked and hurt, to Jess's ears. "You don't."

There was some muffled sobbing, and shushing noises that sounded as if his uncle really wanted to say, "Geez!" instead of "Shh".

Scowling, an expression he had already perfected, Jess decided that this Rachel didn't really want to marry Luke and be his aunt and have babies and a house and all that grown-up yuck. She wanted to have a piece of Stars Hollow to take with her, a piece that she _liked_ , but Uncle Luke didn't want to be that. He wanted someone who'd do those mom-dad-family things he saw on television and in movies, or read about in books.

Jess pondered the situation for a few minutes, while the sniffling and snuffling continued, then decided that he felt bad for this Rachel. Clearly, she was nowhere near as sensible as Rory's mother, who had all sorts of adventures just getting from her house to the diner. Rachel, concluded Jess, was like his own mother, Liz. She always thought the next place, the next job, the next whatever, would be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow she never stopped chasing. Having read many books, however, Jess knew that rainbows couldn't be chased. Their nature was to appear, then dissipate, when the light or the angle changed.

Funny, he mused, that someone who took pictures wouldn't know that.

GG GG GG

"Three…" counted Lane Kim, eyes shining behind her glasses. "Two…"

"Wait, we didn't put on…" started Rory.

"One!" yelled Lane, and Jess whooped as he poured the vinegar into the mop bucket.

Red-orange fluid erupted high, particularly because Jess hadn't been able to hold onto the plastic jug _and_ stay back, so had dropped the jug to save himself. The resulting _ker-splooosh,_ what with food coloring, baking soda, water, and cornstarch, meant Jess was spitting out disgusting slime and laughing hysterically.

Lane squealed excitedly. "We did it! Now we know it'll work! Rory, we're gonna win the volcano contest!"

Giggling, Rory grabbed Lane's hands and the two danced in a circle, while Jess literally rolled on the ground, hooting. Rory's expression of dismay had been _awesome_ when the slime came at her. It was _great_.

"Okay, we have to write it down, and we need to figure out how to copy Jess dropping the jug, because we can't do that in a contest," said Lane when she at last stood still. She picked up a notebook, the only thing safely in plastic, and frowned. "Maybe we can sneak out one of the rice cookers, they use pressure…"

"What the hell're you doing!"

Instinct sent Jess shooting away at high speed.

"Damn it, Jess!"

Rory panted up alongside him and wheezed, "This way!"

He followed her instructions, swerving down a gap between two shops, along a sidewalk, and up a rickety metal fire escape that took him back to New York City in a heartbeat. A few moments later, they dropped panting and sweaty onto the last landing, with Jess asking, "Where's the rest of it?"

"I dunno," said Rory, grasping her side. "It doesn't. Go. Anywhere. Or into. Anywhere. It just. Is here. Nobody knows. Why. Oh wow."

Stifling panic, Jess demanded, "Then how do we get out?"

"Get out?" asked Rory, head tipped to one side. "Nobody goes up a fire escape that doesn't go anywhere, so nobody looks for anyone up here."

Stars Hollow logic officially fried Jess's brain.

"Hey," gasped Lane, trotting up the last few metal steps. "Wow. He sure got mad."

"But we got permission," sulked Rory, fanning herself inadequately with a hand. "He said we could use the alley behind the diner!"

"Twice," agreed Lane, trying to find a clean patch of shirt on which to de-slime her eyeglasses. "I mean, Mama Kim asked, too, so it wouldn't look bad by the store, and he said it was okay."

Jess looked away, finding himself face to beak with a sparrow perched in a sprawling maple tree that was, apparently, the terminus of the fire escape, inasmuch it had one. He schooled himself into perfect stillness, from eyebrows to toenails. It worked wonders to defuse angry or upset people in his experience.

"Jess, what's wrong with your uncle, is something…"

"Hey, back off," snarled Jess, glaring at Lane, "he can do what he wants."

"Geez, sorry," sighed Lane, "I just meant, y'know, he's not usually this, um, okay, he can be reallllly grumpy but…"

Rory said suddenly, "Maybe he's upset that he's babysitting."

Jess jerked around, face darkening, hands fisting. He did not regard his Stars Hollow sojourn as being _babysat_. Exile, perhaps, and then a pleasant holiday, but not _babysat._ "What?"

"Yeah, my mom asked him to babysit me tomorrow night."

Jess's heart rate dropped to normal. "Huh? Why not Babette or someone?"

"Oh, Morey has a gig," said Rory as casually as a jaded jazz artist in Memphis. "And Miss Patty has a date, too. And Mia has an event at the inn, too many strangers around."

"Your mom has a _date_?" gasped Lane, eyes widening.

"I guess," shrugged Rory, mouth downturned. She studied her footing as they made their way down the Fire Escape To Nowhere. "I dunno if it counts."

"How does it not count? Will she dress up and put on make-up and…"

"Shut it," Jess advised Lane curtly. "I'm gonna clean up and get some lemonade or something. You coming?"

"But a _date_ ," mourned Lane, "it's a date or it isn't, right?"

"I guess," pouted Rory, arms crossed as if she was chilled. "It's my dad."

Jess grimaced, all respect for Lorelai gone. One more woman like Liz, not caring if a man was spoken for, or if she was. He sneered, "Your parents go on dates? That's stupid. They're already married."

Lane kicked his shin, giving him an urgent look that he didn't understand at all.

Pink-cheeked, Rory yelled, "They're not married! He didn't want me! He never wants me! He only goes out with _Mom_!"

Before Jess could react, Rory was sprinting away again, dripping the last of the red volcano-slime behind her.

Lane shoved Jess in the shoulder. "Don't you know _anything_?"

Confused, Jess watched Lane chase after Rory, and slouched back to the diner. He arrived caked in dried _stuff_ , to find his uncle flinging bags into the dumpster with far more force than needed.

"Hey," he ventured tentatively.

"Hey, Jess. Sorry about that, I forgot I said it was okay. You all right?"

Jess shrugged, and said sadly, "I don't understand girls."

Luke squeezed his shoulder very gently. "Me either."

"I'm not in trouble?"

"Nope."

"I'll help clean up."

"Thanks."

"Uncle Luke?"

"Yeah, Jess?" his uncle replied wearily, wiping sweat away with his sleeve.

Jess spat it out. "Are you _babysitting_ me?"

His uncle harrumphed. "You don't like that word, huh?"

Jess grinned lopsidedly. "Not after two weeks."

For some reason, Luke's ears were red as he said, "Geez, I need Lorelai for this... Uh, I was thinking maybe, since your mom won't be out of the rehab place till after school starts, she might let you stay here for the school year, too, y'know, since you're getting settled in and all."

Jess forgot all about girls, woes, and sticky red stuff dried in his hair. "You _like_ me being around?"

"Yeah," said Luke, sounding as surprised as Jess felt. "You okay with that?"

For answer, Jess could only smile.

GG GG GG

AN: Okay, that's Jess's take on things. I know, I know, there's tons of fics about young Jess with Luke, and pre-show LL, and getting Rachel out of the way, and-or all of the above all at once, so if I'm stepping on anyone's toes, I apologize.

So if you missed it: No, Luke did not do the horizontal hula with Anna. He got drunk, slept it off, and went home. Ta-da!


	4. Chapter 4

Babysitter4

Disclaimer: Same song, same verse. La la la *not mine*!

AN: The saga continues. I was going to switch back to Lorelai, then Luke, then Rory, and so I finally wound up going to bed, and woke up with the whole thing written in that weird dream-sleep way. Onward.

GG GG GG

Rachel sat at the airport bar. It wasn't her usual pre-flight routine. She rarely bothered drinking before flying, after flying, or during flying. Not even after a near-crash on a twin-engine dating back to the 1930s during a lagoon almost-landing in Polynesia.

At a table, drumming his fingers, sat one of those smoothly groomed sorts she associated with top-priced seats, sleek resorts, and no interest at all in the _real_ world. Only polished shiny tourist versions, not an insect or snail or rash to be found.

Rachel downed the vodka, a handful of peanuts, and glared in disgust at Mister World Tourist. Travel was what _she_ did, all her belongings and camera gear in two bags, and nothing to bind her but regrets, memories, and, currently, the delayed flight out of Hartford.

Her eyes and her mood brightened when she saw a hesitant woman at the entrance to the bar. The VIP bar, but that hadn't stopped Rachel. She had the frequent flier miles. She was in her late twenties and had already visited every continent but Antarctica. She'd snapped shots from hiding of poachers in Africa, of child brides, of ritual cleansings in the filthy Ganges, of stark ruins three weeks from civilization by camel, and a rare-blooming flower in the Amazon from a dugout floating among what were, technically, _treetops_.

Domestic drama was her delight, in such moods. It reminded her of why she'd left. Stupid petty insecure woman at a stupid petty airport bar, trapped by convention and those silly silver heels, never to know a real thing about real life, no clue what it was to _live_. Perfect antidote to what ailed her.

She tapped the bar with her knuckles, earned a refill on the vodka, and skulked nearer. One of her cameras was at the ready. Rachel saw the world through a small aperture, and preferred it from her own angle.

She fumbled her shot.

It was Luke's other woman. The other woman who wasn't the boring-up-selling-boutique one, who thought she'd seduce a man over supper, wine, and (Rachel grimaced a little drunkenly) Chamber of Commerce statistics on small businesses.

It was the one his nephew liked. She'd gotten _that_ message loud and clear, with a dark-eyed dismissal and a rude, "Hey, Uncle Luke, Lorelai was _awesome_ about breakfast."

No fashionista, Rachel confessed that the dark blue dress was elegant and suitable and all those other socially acceptable things she herself disdained for khaki shorts and hiking boots.

The Renaissance Loser gave her a big smile. "Lore!"

"Lorelai," said the woman automatically, dodging the lip-kiss for a cheek-brush. "Christopher. You said dinner. This is a bar. In the _airport_. Are you kidding me?"

"Hey, I wanted to talk about Rory."

"I know, that's why Rory is home, so you can't make it worse. You haven't seen her in five years, Chris!"

Rachel took a few discreet snapshots. Luke's precious dear Lorelai could be a right proper shrew, that was clear.

"Look, I have it figured out this time, you want tequila?"

Clearly, tequila was some code word. Lorelai's hands went slamming into her lap. "No. What did you want to discuss about _Rory_. Your daughter. _Our_ daughter. The amazingest ever kid to live, not that you'd know."

Rachel nearly chortled from behind the potted palm at odds with all and any matters Connecticut. Luke's lovelornity was over a single mother? He must not know about the kid. Jess was one thing, but someone else's kid? Clearly, Rachel grinned, they'd never been treated to the " _never drop another sucker into this mess_ " speech that had, for her, clinched the deal years ago. If she and Luke agreed on that, what else _couldn't_ they possibly agree on?

Her face soured. Everything else. She emptied the vodka glass and set it in the pot holding the palm.

"Lore…"

"Lorelai," sighed Lorelai, purse clutched tight in front of her as if it was a medieval warrior's shield. "You wanted to talk about Rory. Talk."

Christopher leaned forward, smiling in a way that should have dazzled the pants off any woman in the bar, and said eagerly, "I've got it all figured out, Lore."

"Oh no, here we go again," muttered Lorelai, piquing Rachel's interest. A photo was worth a thousand words, but sometimes, a thousand words weren't necessary.

"No, look, I was talking to your parents."

Lorelai backed from the table, drawing in a loud breath. "You what?"

"She's old enough for school, right?"

"She's ten in a couple of months!" Lorelai pointed out tartly, and started casting longing looks at the exit. Rachel agreed that the guy was clearly a waste of oxygen. Who didn't know their own kid's _age_?

"So she can go to Haverford."

The way Lorelai paled intrigued Rachel. Stories were everywhere, waiting for her camera, and that was a big story. She quietly pushed a button, glad the daylight through the span of glass windows allowed her to skip use of the flash.

"She's bright, she'd do great, and our parents would pay, and we could do it, Lore! We could go to Europe, you, me, a touring bike, no borders, no worries, just us, like we planned!"

Still clicking away, Rachel noted a grief on Lorelai's face that almost stopped her.

Almost, of course. Nothing stopped Rachel when her camera was in hand, as far as Rachel had yet found.

"Chris," said Lorelai with true pity, a mere step from contempt, "we planned that when we were _fifteen_. Before the stick turned pink. Before Rory. Before everything!"

"Oh come on, you don't have to work, we only get to be young once, we should see the world!"

"And leave Rory at a boarding school? Are you insane? And I don't mean soft and fuzzy feed-the-pigeons insane, I'm talking Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ insane!"

"We did fine…"

"We went to prep schools and lived with our parents! Do you remember the kids who went to Haverford? I do," ranted Lorelai, leaning over the table and accidentally giving this Chris a peep at her cleavage. He turned it into a prolonged leer. She slapped the table. "Hey! My eyes are up here!"

Chris's eyes rose. "Lore…"

"The Haverford kids are the ones our parents kept _us_ away from! Delilah Putnam was Hartford's Pablo Escobar! And nobody ever found out _what_ happened to that girl who married Geller! And Stanford Cranston was arrested for making pornography at Haverford!"

"That happens everywhere!"

Rachel did a double-take, her vodka-induced haze rapidly dissipating. How stupid _was_ this guy?

"It's a great school, so there were a few bad apples…"

"Making porn with underage girls doesn't make you a bad apple, it makes you a scum-sucking, slime-eating, filth-munching…"

"Oh c'mon, he was trying to make art films, you know how it is."

"You want to put our daughter in a school that covered up for a kid who made porn with fellow students?"

"That was years ago!"

"Yeah," said Lorelai angrily, eyes blazing a peculiar laser hue. "Six years ago. You're insane, Chris, completely and utterly and totally _insane_ if you think I'll ever let that world get hold of my daughter!"

"Lore, she can get a lot more in Hartford than she can in Stars Corners."

"Stars Hollow," said Rachel under her breath, as Lorelai did the same.

"Don't," begged Lorelai, tears starting down her cheeks. "Don't you dare say it's about making a better life for Rory, if you wanted that, you'd be using your trust fund to pay some damn child support!"

"I need the money," answered Chris feebly.

Rachel involuntarily recoiled. A trust fund baby who didn't cough up child support? Wow, Lorelai sure did pick a lousy guy to father her kid, even if she had his number in the now, and that number was a big fat zero.

"Nothing changes," said Lorelai, standing, her mouth a tight line Rachel couldn't resist capturing on film. "Ten years and it's still the same. Ditch Rory, run off and play. We're not kids, Chris. I worked hard to get to where I am, I work hard to make a good home for Rory, I'm going to start classes to get a business degree soon, I have a _life_. A nice quiet settled…"

"Boring!" chimed Christopher, huffing around a mouthful of his drink.

"Life," sighed Lorelai. "Chris, why are we meeting in an airport? Please tell me it's because you just arrived."

"I got a flight to New York in a couple hours. Connects to London. Paris. You're supposed to be on it with me." He shoved a ticket across the table at her, pouting, thought Rachel, like a spoiled child deprived of a treat.

Lorelai staggered slightly. "You wanted me to leave _tonight_? No warning, no time, no nothing, just drop Rory…"

"Your parents would take her!"

"I know," snarled Lorelai in a feral tone that frightened Rachel more than the jaguar she'd seen in the Amazon. "And turn her into the perfect Hartford society princess, and squash _Rory_ right out of her! We hated that, why the hell would you want that for her!"

"We've got all our lives to settle down and play house!"

Behind her palm tree, Rachel hid a gasp and sat on the nearest available flat surface, which happened to be the cold metal sill of the vast window. Had she sounded that way to Luke, all these years? Not even a decade of their lives, nearly the same as Lorelai and this Christopher, and he sang the same song she did. _We have all our lives for that stuff! We should have this while we're young enough to enjoy it_.

Her camera fell unheeded to her lap. Blood drained from her face. Did she truly sound that immature and selfish?

No, concluded Rachel. She at least worked for her living.

"Get up," commanded Lorelai, and in her, Rachel saw a High Society doyenne, or possibly a revived Catherine d'Medici. "You're coming to Stars Hollow to spend a few hours with _your daughter_ , and then you can go to hell for all I care!"

Loser Guy whined, "Lore, c'mon, what would I say to a kid?"

Lorelai's growling hiss outdid that jaguar by far. "Try 'hello'."

"You don't get it, you never get it, we can be old and stodgy later!"

Lorelai's face reminded Rachel of Luke's, not during their argument the previous week, but during most of the arguments in the years before it.

The first time she left, she'd been certain he'd come along the second time. They hadn't _bound_ each other. It wasn't their way.

 _Her_ way?

Then she'd come back and stuck out the hideous months of William's illness, positive Luke would leave with her no more than a week after the funeral. Instead, he wanted to open a diner, combining his father's old space with his mother's love of cooking for as many people as possible. Appalled, she'd told him to rot in obscurity to his content, in that mouse-trap town.

 _His_ town?

This time, she'd returned certain he'd be bored senseless, ready to ditch it all after he saw the portfolio of her work, only to discover…

"Oh," said Rachel to the potted fake palm. " _Oh_."

All these years, she'd been sure he wanted what she did. Obviously, she needed to re-think that assessment.

She edged out of hiding, not so much heartbroken as abashed by her own folly.

"Hey," she said, interrupting the intense but politely low-voiced argument.

Lorelai whitened, other than a bright red patch on each cheek. Christopher eyed Rachel up and down.

"Oh my God," said Lorelai in the same tone Rachel had heard in the diner.

"He won't get it," she said. "He thinks if he promises you something, he'll get what he wants. Even if it's not what you want."

"Are you okay?" asked Lorelai, mustering more grace of character than Rachel had at the moment. "You're sort of weaving."

The redhead gestured, camera still in hand. "Vodka. Self-pity."

"Ah, gotcha," said Lorelai with true understanding. "But he's her _dad_."

"I think he's more like a sperm donor who wants to be twenty forever."

Chris forgot to stare at Rachel's legs in favor of yipping, "Hey!"

"She cries," said Lorelai imperatively, begging for comprehension from _someone_. "She _cries_. And he wants to give her to the same people who made _us_ miserable! I'd love a vacation! I'd love to be fifteen forever! But I can't! I want a home! A real one, where it's okay to track dirt on the floor, and…"

Rachel put her arms around Lorelai and hugged her. "Got it. And thanks."

Disentangling herself with care, and perhaps a ripple of distaste, Lorelai said, "You're welcome, for what?"

"I finally feel like I'm not the worst person on earth," said Rachel, and jerked her head sideways, toward Christopher. "I think he is."

"But he's…"

"You love him?" asked Rachel with alcohol-fueled bluntness.

"Of course, he's her…"

"If you didn't have kids? A kid? Whatever," waved Rachel and sank to the nearest chair before her knees turned as blurry as her vision. Vodka and peanuts made great anesthesia, particularly when the former caught up to the brain after bypassing the latter.

Tucking a curl behind an ear, Lorelai sighed. "I don't want him to think he can't see her just because I don't want to marry him!"

Rachel accused genially, "You really love that town."

Lorelai blushed and fidgeted with her purse. "Um. Yeah. It's home. The way I want a home. It's stupid and crazy and annoying, but so am I."

"He meant it, about that Annie or Hanna or whatever," blurted Rachel, her face flushing despite the sensation she'd turned cold.

"He loves you," replied Lorelai in a tiny, sad voice.

Emotions bubbling, Rachel gulped down a resurgence of vodka. "I think eight years ago or so, we had a chance, a choice, and we chose. And I was there when his dad died and he read that as one thing, and it was another, and now we're auld lang syne and…" Rachel pondered on the derailment of her train of thought, before she hopped a new one. "He said he took you to Sniffy's. Is that true?"

Clearly uneasy, Lorelai backed up a few steps, arms crossed in self-protection, tossing her curls off her face. "Yes. So?"

Rachel captured Lorelai's gaze and said slowly, "I've never been there. With him. I went on my own because he talked about it. But he never took _me_. He'd say it was because he was learning the business there or it was a family memories thing, but he took _you_."

"Pinky promise cross-your-heart-hope-to-die?" whispered Lorelai shakily.

Rachel extended a pinky, then crossed her heart. "I went on my own, incognition. Incognito. Whatever. And… He never took me. How many dates did it take for you to get to Sniffy's?"

"Um," said Lorelai, "it was our first date."

Rachel sat flat back down, hitting the table with her hip, hard enough to leave a bruise. "He took you there on your _first_ date."

"Sorry?" tried Lorelai.

"Wow," said Rachel, stunned. "Um. Wow. You should… Yeah. Go home."

"But…"

Rachel raised her eyebrows, despite the pending headache that caused.

'Okay," said Lorelai, and turned a last few words on Chris, who seemed to think he'd gotten dinner _and_ a show. "Rory turns ten in October. Show up on the right day, with a gift _you_ chose, and a card _you_ wrote."

"Or what?" jeered Christopher. "We're meant to be, Lore, you and me, you won't be able to say no to me."

"I wouldn't bet your trust fund on that one, buddy," said Rachel cheerfully, examining one of the plane tickets. Fancy first-class seating all the way to Orly sounded a far step up from her usual, even if she did only need to go as far as New York's JFK. She tucked the ticket away in her camera bag.

"Grow up," sneered Lorelai to Christopher, turned on her heel, and walked away.

Rachel stood. She snorted much more soberly than she expected she could. He was already eyeing some trashed-drunk girl alone at a table in the corner. No wonder Lorelai had no interest in the man as a partner. She'd met butterflies with better attention spans. Literally. It was in Mexico. Monarchs in migration season.

She thought about calling Luke, a last good-bye, then shrugged and wandered past the ranks of pay phones to find real food. She'd be back again, someday, in three or five or ten years, but until then, the world beckoned, and her camera had film, and Luke Danes was clearly doing all right.

GG GG GG

AN: And Rachel is done and dusted. Also, for the very young, yes, back before 9/11/2001, you could do things like meet up at airport bars, hang around departure gates, and so forth, without having your nail clippers or umbrella confiscated and needing to buy a ticket. And, of course, beware the tromping feet of dinosaurs. (I'm feeling old, humor me.)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Fifth verse, same as the first. *warbles* Not miiiiiine!

AN: Where's the babysitting? Well, let's see how Luke's doing, shall we? Back to Lorelai's POV, and a long chapter.

GG GG GG

Two hours before expected, Lorelai Gilmore opened her front door and called, "Rory? I'm back."

Although the TV was on, the house was empty.

How Lorelai knew this was something she attributed to maternal instinct. Specifically, the one that warned a parent when a child was about to walk into a sharp corner, fall off a step, or try to eat soap. She had never quite understood how, but one day around the time Rory learned to crawl, _bang_ , she had it.

And it told her Rory was not home.

Considering that Rory was meant to be home, fed by Luke Danes and watching TV with Jess, that did not bode well.

She checked all rooms anyway, kicking off her heeled shoes with a tiny groan of relief. Bridal satin pumps weren't meant for breathability, and the weather was beyond warm. It was downright _hot_.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. August in Connecticut did bring such storms now and again, and Lorelai's panic soared from Manageable to Screaming. Rory was not home, and it was going to storm.

Lorelai transformed from tired woman into Mama Bear on the Rampage.

"I'm going to kill Luke," she declared, and took off running for the diner.

She dodged pedestrians, vehicles, and at one point, Kirk riding alone on a bicycle built for two. She hit the diner's front door not unlike a storm, skidded in her bare feet into a table, and snarled, " _Where's my kid_?"

The late supper crowd stared at the madwoman in her elegant dark blue dress, mussed curls, slightly smeared mascara, and hose torn to the ankles by her unshod sprint over pavement.

"Problem, Lorelai?" asked Taylor with a pinched-up mouth and nose.

She leaned on his table, taking him by his collar, and demanded, "Tell me where that scruffy disgrace to LL Bean is!"

"Ah," croaked Taylor, purpling. "Eh uh ogh."

She understood that to mean _I don't know_ , dropped him, and glared around the diner. "Anyone know where I can find Luke Danes, soon to be the _late_ Luke Danes? I left a specific order. My kid, at my house, no exceptions unless it required an ambulance or natural disaster, and the last I looked, it's not even raining yet!"

Everyone present, from tourists to Taylor, shook their heads.

She raced around the counter, up the stairs, and slammed a fist against the door to Luke's apartment. " _Luke!_ "

Nobody answered.

"He had orders!" screeched Lorelai. "If he had to take Rory somewhere, _leave me a note_! No note! No Rory! Where the hell is my kid!"

By the last words, she'd once again reached the diner, and the patrons were considerably less numerous than before her entrance.

"Truck?" she demanded.

Taylor pointed. "Out back as usual. Lorelai…"

Pacing, Lorelai ranted, "I can't believe this. He said he owed me for taking care of Jess, I couldn't get anyone else, I let him take care of my kid and now she's missing! They're missing! Where are they! I need the police! I need the FBI! I need a gun! I need to learn how to use a gun so I can shoot him in the…"

The bells over the door jingled.

Lorelai whipped around, ready to commit mayhem.

Luke Danes froze in his tracks, possibly due to the arctic glare he received.

She marched up and bunched her hand in his shirt very near his windpipe. "Where's my kid? For that matter, where the hell is Jess?"

Luke stammered. "You're, um. Uh. Early. Where's your shoes?"

" _Where is my daughter?_ "

Luke squawked, "I lost her!"

Although no one would later know what happened, all agreed on the result. Luke was flat on his back on the diner floor, Lorelai atop him with a knee strategically placed in his groin, holding a ketchup bottle high in the air. Given it was plastic, and squirted, Luke was in no real danger, but people only realized it in retrospect. At the time, most viewed the ketchup bottle as lethal weaponry, and all were glad Lorelai was barefoot. A spiky heel in her hands wasn't to be thought of, outside nightmares.

"I have had a very bad couple of weeks," Lorelai whispered, although everyone heard her plainly, "and a _really_ bad night, now you tell me you _lost my kid_?"

"Not on purpose!" said Luke. "I lost Jess, too!"

Lorelai stood. She put more weight on a certain knee than was, strictly speaking, required to get her upright. Luke made a noise between _whoof_ and _meep_ and stayed on the floor for his own safety. "What happened."

Accustomed to chatty, bright, energetic Lorelai, the assembled townies gaped in awe. Even those aware that she could be fragile and worn did not know this incarnation of Lorelai. Had she breathed fire and sprouted wings, it wouldn't have surprised any of them.

Taylor advised, "Run, Luke."

Luke braced himself on a table and stood with a certain hunch. "Ah. I went to the, ah, bathroom. When I came out, gone. Turned around. Jess gone, too."

All wrath and strength deserted Lorelai. She collapsed, hitting a chair courtesy a fast-thinking diner patron. "Oh my God. She ran away? Rory ran away? I'll kill Chris. I will. A piece at a time. I… He… She… Oh my God, we _do_ need the police, why didn't you call me?"

"I did call the number you left!" railed Luke, pushing his ball cap back onto his head. "It was some sleazy bar!"

"At the airport, and Rachel was at that bar, too, get off my back, you lost my kid!"

Taylor smirked. Both Lorelai and Luke whirled on him, and the expression vanished. A month of gossip in a single sentence had become, abruptly, absolutely irrelevant and unimportant. He stood swiftly. "We'll organize search parties immediately."

"Good, you do that," barked Lorelai, snagged Luke by his shirt, and dragged him by force out the door into the night. "You're with me. Talk. What happened before your trip to the little boys' room."

Hurrying to keep pace with Lorelai, Luke recited, "Uh, they ate burgers and salads, Rory said she wanted to read, Jess said he'd read, I watched ESPN, they sat there reading, I used the bathroom, gone."

Maternal mind in full gear, and spinning at high speed, Lorelai shot out, "What were they reading?"

"Books!"

Lorelai's growl outdid the approaching thunder.

Luke stopped hyperventilating long enough to answer, "Jess is reading something called _The Martian Chronicles_ , um, and Rory had something about gables."

"Uh-huh," grumbled Lorelai, eyes mere slits as she stalked along, heart thumping. "She finished that series days ago. You got suckered, sucker."

"What?"

"Rory never re-reads a series right away, she always gives it a few months, then it's like new," Lorelai responded briskly, gaze sweeping the sky, the street, and the gutters in that order. "Were they talking?"

"No."

Half a block of fruitless glowering and snarling later, Lorelai took a tiny portion of mercy on Luke. "Not talking. About books. Those two. Just what were you watching on ESPN? The Astounding Mesmer?"

"I, uh, don't remember," admitted Luke, rubbing his neck. "Lorelai, slow down, you'll get heat stroke."

She jerked her arm from his grasp with a sniff. "I'll cool off when I know my kid's okay. And Jess, for that matter. Which is why we're going to Mrs. Kim's."

"Why would they go there?"

"Ugh," was Lorelai's impatient explanation. "She likes you. Go knock and ask if Lane has Rory's math book."

"What the hell does that…"

Lorelai lifted her hands as if she'd strangle him, tear out his hair, or possibly shake him by the ears. "Mrs. Kim thinks I'm the whore of Babylon, the jezebel of Hartford, and the great slut of the ages. But she loves Rory. And the math book is their code for trouble, they think I don't know."

"But you know."

"Of course I know! They're girls! They giggle! They forget to look for eavesdropping mothers!"

Luke's expression turned to disgust. "You listen in on their private conversations?!"

How, she did not know, but Lorelai became something worse than ice or lightning. "And how did _your_ mom know what _you_ were up to?"

Luke's mouth opened and shut a few times, before he ruefully confessed, "Ah, I think I just figured it out. Math book. Okay. Got it. Then what?"

Flipping hair off her face, Lorelai gritted out, "Lane will come downstairs to explain where to find the math book, and I'll hide and listen in and break the code, okay?"

"This is insane."

"This is _parenting_!"

Lorelai hid in the shadows while Luke made the inquiry, and listened carefully to Lane's explanation of, "The last time I saw it, Mr. Danes, the math book was on the coffee table, but it might be by the stove? I'm sorry I can't help more. Jess might know."

"You're fine, Lane, and, uh, g'night. Good night, Mrs. Kim."

"Very responsible, seeing she does her math work," approved Mrs. Kim sternly, and the door shut.

Lorelai rejoined Luke near the corner, where it was rather safer for her than anywhere in Mrs. Kim's sight. "Coffee table is diner."

"What's stove? Ah geez, this is bad. How can we ask Jess? He's gone, too! Damn it! I told him to sit still! Why would he know the code?

Her panic rising beyond measurable levels, Lorelai worried, "No idea. I was really hoping she'd say the porch, then I'd know it was the potting shed."

"How is porch getting you to potting shed?"

"Ask them, it's their code," crisped out Lorelai, dragging him by the hairs on his forearm. "Stove… Stove… Stoves are food? No, wait, this is my kid. Microwaves mean Andrew's, for popcorn, for the movies… Clocks mean Taylor's… Closet is gazebo…"

"Ow ow ow," whispered Luke under her ramble. "Lorelai. My arm. Ow."

She released him. "Stove… Stove… What does a stove _mean_? They never used stove before. She must think Rory is going to get the message. But I need to find Rory and I can't tell Mrs. Kim I lost her with you in charge or she'll never let Lane come over again and then Rory will hate me."

"Lorelai. Slow down. Breathe. We can't think if we panic."

Hands flung up and out, Lorelai yelled, "Oh, and you're not worried about Jess?"

Luke shouted, "Of course I am! But getting upset won't help!"

"Well, it helps _me_!" screeched Lorelai in return, as lightning forked the sky with pink afterglow. "What would a stove mean, Luke? Where are they? Why does Lane know and I don't?" She began to tremble, adrenaline ebbing, tears flooding. "When they get in trouble, or think they will, they use the code, but I don't know it, and I'm her mom, I'm supposed to know, and I don't, and it's all stupid Christopher's fault, he wanted to run off to Paris and leave Rory with my parents and send her to Haverford! He even had tickets! Like I'd just run off and do that! Ever! And I wasn't here, because he said he wanted to talk about _Rory_ , and I thought he meant it and I'm so s-s-s-stupid, it's all my fault!"

She bent over, sobbing, her mind full of images of Rory drowned. Rory as roadkill. Rory dangling from a spiky tree. Rory in a Dickensian orphanage. Rory on a cold metal table with white-sheened death-eyes.

Arms caught her as she fell. A hand rubbed her upper back in small circles. An arm braced her in a sidelong hug. She sank to the pavement in a huddle, sniffling into Luke's shirt, "What if they… I can't… Oh God, and Rachel was so drunk, it was like some bizarre David Kelley series without the fun parts, and now it's all Wes Craven and…"

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"And I haven't eaten since breakfast," finished Lorelai in a soft wail, "and I think I have to throw up."

Luke left her, vanishing toward a neon glow at the corner.

Lorelai pounded her forehead with her palms. "Stove stove stove. What does stove mean? What does stove mean? What does…"

Thunder smashed.

She turned her face sky-ward, wrapping her arms around her knees, and begged, "Please, please, please, hit me, hit me, not my baby."

A shadow loomed out of the dancing storm-light. Lorelai gasped in hope. Right size? Sort of? She called, "Rory?"

"Miss…G-g-…Lorelai?" asked the shadow as it came nearer and proved to be a bedraggled, haggard, and altogether wretched-looking Jess Mariano.

Maternal instinct appeased and yet tripled, Lorelai held out her arms, and sighed, "Oh, kiddo." It meant _I'm glad you're okay._ It meant _I'm glad to see you_. And, despite her best intentions, it meant, _I wish you were my kid and not Luke's nephew, no offense, of course._

To her surprise, Jess flopped into her waiting arms and dropped to his knees, hugging her tight. "I'm s-s-sorry! I t-tried to find her b-but I can't! I don't know it here! And I got lost! And I thought I was back to the diner! And I'm so sorry!"

Bewildered, Lorelai nonetheless embraced Jess and clucked at him and rubbed little circles on his upper back, which was far less bony after a mere two weeks of Luke-food and running around with kids near his own age and intellectual level. "Hey. Hey. Shh. It's okay. Luke will be happy to see you, he's worried, he really is."

"I disobeyed!" wailed Jess, and his shiver was not cold, but fear.

Distracted as she was, Lorelai scowled, and didn't even wince when Jess used his t-shirt sleeve for a handkerchief. She'd bought it for Rory, at Goodwill, thinking Rory would like the stars and planets on it, but it had wound up in the no-go box meant to go right back to Goodwill. Rory's choice, she recalled. Herself a gazer of stars, Lorelai had been confused, but let it slide. Kids needed to make their own choices.

 _Some_ of them, anyway.

And then Luke's nephew appeared, and Luke was beyond clueless, and the shirt was unisexual, and here she sat, furious with Luke, hugging his nephew, while the t-shirt accumulated some mucus.

Bizarre as her night had been already, Lorelai accepted it all with a vague sense of surreality, and said to Jess, "Here, no, let me," and offered up the sleeve of her good dress. "More material to work with."

Jess withdrew sharply, bounding back from her as if he'd been given a blow. "No! I mean, no. Thanks. Um. Rory wasn't right and then she ran out, and I thought I'd know where to find her, but I got lost and I'm sorry."

From terrified kid to taut adult was a transformation Lorelai knew too well. It was not something she wanted to see in any child. Staying put on the pavement, she said lightly, "It's okay, Jess, as far as I'm concerned. You wanted to help Rory. That's a good thing."

Jess glowered, arms folded and shoulders hunched. Had he worn a ball cap, he'd have looked remarkably like his uncle.

"Jess!" shouted a voice in mingled relief and anger.

Jess readied to run.

Mind slowing into rational thought, or what passed for it given the circumstances, Lorelai put out a hand. "Hey. Stay. Maybe you can tell us something?"

Jess stayed, but edged closer to her, to keep her between himself and Luke. On any other evening, the small gesture with its large implications would have broken her heart.

"Here," said Luke, skidding into view. "Eat this. Drink this."

Unable to quip, despite the obvious "Alice in Wonderland" reference awaiting her, Lorelai ate and drank. She tasted nothing.

Luke examined Jess at arm's length, and almost seemed about to hug the boy, but did not. "Where the hell…"

"He was looking for Rory," snapped Lorelai, "which is more than you were doing!"

"Hey, I was looking for her, I thought they'd be together!"

Jess miraculously shrank, while standing statue-still. "I wanted to help," he muttered, and kicked at the pavement with a foot shod in brand new trainers, purchased by the uncle ranting at him. Lorelai knew because it had been on the list of things she'd made that a boy would need. It was, at that age, blessedly similar to a girl's needs. Only at puberty did trouble start.

To distract Luke, she asked, "What was that?"

"Uh, a trail bar. It had chocolate in it. And that was some kind of juice. I just grabbed what I saw."

"Oh." Lorelai dug her fingers into the brick of the building to haul herself upright. "Okay. Thank you. Why would you call something a stove?"

Luke stood frowning. "It's hot, you use it to cook?"

Lorelai exhaled carefully. The words she wanted to use were _not_ for ears under a certain age. "Lane said a stove, is there anything in Stars Hollow like that? Anything? Luke, think, please!"

Clearly alarmed, Luke tried to catch her as she walked in tiny weepy circles. "We should go back to the house, your house, I, uh, I brought food for you, too, it's in the kitchen, I mean the fridge, in case, uh, you got hungry. Cuz, y'know, you're you and you're always hungry."

Skidding past the insult to be taken in that last , eyebrows twisting, Lorelai bit out, "Take Jess home. I'll figure it out. My kid. My problem."

Jess tugged hard at Lorelai's sleeve. "I don't want to go. I want to find her, too."

"Oh, sweetie," began Lorelai.

Jess said sharply, "Why are you talking about _stoves_? It's gonna rain and she's gonna get wet and…"

Patience lost, but exhaustion making a fine substitute, Lorelai explained the "code".

Jess gave a shout. "Hell's Kitchen! They meant New York!"

Lorelai swayed, paling at the idea of her baby on the roads, headed for the Big Bad Mean City.

Luke went to one knee, having apparently realized this made him less scary to Jess. "Wait, why would they mean New York?"

"Hell's Kitchen, it's an old neighborhood in New York, it's…"

Luke's eyes widened, giving Lorelai a flare of hope. "That's Liz's last address."

"I was telling them, I mean, Rory and Lane, about New York, and how in summer I sleep on fire escapes," explained Jess earnestly, eyes darting to Lorelai and Luke in turn. "And my…Um… _She_ said it was called Hell's Kitchen because all the buildings are like ovens and the streets are like stoves. But she was really…" Jess turned red. "I mean. She was really…"

"Drunk," said Luke bluntly, "you can say it, Jess, it's true."

"Uh, no, she was, um, whatever it is. On crack."

Instincts in turmoil, Lorelai reached a hand to each male to offer comfort. Luke shook his head, turned away, hands on knees. Jess sidled closer, and when she smiled, he at least did not flinch. "So… Stove means New York?"

Luke stood straight, staring at her with a peculiar brightness in his eyes. "Fire escapes!"

As if he'd been understood at last, Jess grinned, "Yeah!"

"What're you talking about?" wheezed Lorelai, for once treated to a taste of the utter confusion that she usually caused.

Luke vibrated. The struggle crawled over his face. Jess needed to go home. Lorelai needed to be okay. Rory needed to be found.

"That's how I got lost," added Jess.

Decision settled on Luke, visibly, as if he'd been haloed in fire. "C'mon. I know where it is." He took Lorelai and Jess each by a hand, and took off running.

Surrendering to the need to breathe to keep up with Luke, Lorelai hung on and ran as best she could on sore feet while wearing a dress and shredded hose.

Although Lorelai had lived near the town for some time, she had not lived _in_ the town for very long, all things considered. She gawked at narrow paths between houses, alleys between stores, and a dozen other winding and weaving shortcuts, all of which Luke knew the way she'd know real coffee from decaf.

"Fire escapes," Luke whispered, hardly out of breath, while Lorelai panted desperately for air at his side. "There's one in Stars Hollow, by this big old maple by the Langdon house, kids play on it all the time."

Winded, Lorelai managed a weak, "Yay?" and followed Luke between two houses, to a fire escape. A free-standing fire escape to nowhere.

Jess nodded, also oxygen-deprived. He reeled into the nearest wall and slid down it, squeaking out a scant, "Ee?" that could have meant anything from "Breathe!" to "Help me!" to "Rory!"

Luke called firmly, "Rory, come down. A high place made of metal is a bad idea in a storm."

Lorelai pushed him aside, feet on the bottom stair, metallic grid cutting into her soles. "Rory? I just want to know you're okay."

After a few more years were taken off her life, Lorelai heard a small, sullen, "He never wants me."

"He's stupid," said Lorelai sincerely, "and he's wrong, and I want you. C'mon, sweets, you know Luke's right. Tall metal thingy around lightning is bad."

Eventually, the structure shivered slightly, and the miscreant appeared, attempting defiance and pride. Unfortunately for Rory, the sudden onslaught of rain rendered her pathetic.

Lorelai burst into tears all over Rory, hugging her child close, as if she could restore Rory to her womb, and safety, and all other magical impossibilities.

Luke roughly circled Jess with an arm, failing to glare. "Hey. This isn't New York but it's still got lunatics running around. Next time, _wait for me_."

Herded with the Gilmores into the relative shelter of someone's pink-striped awning, Jess heaved a sigh. "Trouble, right?"

"Oh yeah."

"Will you send me away?"

"Not that much trouble," said Luke grimly, startling Lorelai into a silent query. Then she read his concern, smiled slightly, shook her head, ecstatic because Rory was with her, safe. She did not blame Jess for the escapade. Christopher, yes. Herself, absolutely. Luke, definitely. Rory, possibly. Jess, however, she anointed for sainthood for knowing about stoves.

"He hates me," sobbed Rory into her mother, and Lorelai's heart shattered. She crouched, to cup Rory's face in her hands.

"Sweets, he doesn't even know you."

"Why don't you tell him to go away and never ever come back!" cried Rory furiously, swiping at wet hair and other substances.

Lorelai hugged her, shoulders sagging. "I didn't want him to think he can't come see you whenever he wants."

"But he never does!"

Lorelai started to say, "He might, someday," and was shocked by a tap on her shoulder.

Staring intently down at her, Luke gave one shake of his head. He mouthed _no more_.

"You're right," Lorelai said to Rory, and bent to protect Rory from a gust of wind, resulting in two disheveled Gilmores instead of one. "But he did talk about you tonight. He wanted to talk about where you might go to school."

Rory went still.

"I told him no," Lorelai continued. "Because it'd mean you'd have to go away, and nobody makes you go away from me."

Rory clung tighter. "Never ever?"

Lorelai choked out, "Never ever, sweets. Pinky promise."

She linked pinkies with her daughter. She took her daughter's hand. She stared hard at Luke over the heads of the two drenched children, ignoring the fact she and Luke were equally soaked. She mouthed, _You. Me. Talk._

"Ah geez," said Luke.

GG GG GG

AN: I have no idea what I'm doing or where this is going. But I hope this chapter had more humor in it, albeit the kind where you wonder if someone will end up under an anvil. It gave me conniptions, to be honest. I wrote it a few days ago, then re-wrote it about an hour before posting. A definite head-on-desk sort of chapter.

By the way? A fire escape to nowhere did exist for a bit in a town I knew. A pair of buildings had burned, and the fire escape of one survived. They rebuilt on the lot to one side and on the lot to the other, but the fire escape just stayed there for a few years. Eventually, it was torn down for the scrap iron. I really wish I could make this stuff up.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Singing a song, just like before... "Not mi-hi-hi-hi-ine!"

AN: Thanks for sticking it out, and for all comments, good or bad or whatever. I am aware it's odd to post a chapter a day, but it keeps me from re-writing them into gibberish.

For non-baseball fans, three strikes equals an out, and three outs retires a side. Yes, you do need to know this.

GG GG GG

Luke Danes was not yet thirty, but felt ancient.

He'd lost his mother young. Strike one.

He'd then lost his father. Strike two.

He'd yet to hold onto a girlfriend. Strike three.

And with that, Luke Danes concluded, he was _out_.

On the other hand, he'd grown fond of Jess in the last few weeks. He'd laid to rest that whole girlfriend issue, insofar as Rachel and her wanderlust were concerned.

And he'd lost Rory Gilmore while babysitting her.

Another out, on a pop-up to center that never gave him a chance to get on base.

Bottom of the ninth, at bat, facing a demon fastball named Lorelai, and he felt like he had two outs against him already. With two wild-swing strikes, though he hated to admit to either.

Strike one? He'd been moping over her having a date while supposedly watching ESPN, and that was why he hadn't paid enough attention to the kids. Staring at SportsCenter did wonders for his mood as a rule, but all he'd seen was Lorelai taut-faced and chilly, asking if he could watch Rory. He'd jumped at the chance, before he'd thought through that whole Lorelai-on-a-date thing. Rookie swinging for high and outside.

Strike two? He'd been comparing the Lorelai of _their_ date to the Lorelai of _that_ date, and as maddening as it was to find both were truly Lorelai, it was worse to discover he'd envied some low-life deadbeat loser like Rory's absentee dad. The man had a trust fund. He'd given her Rory. Rachel had left for, in his opinion, far less reason. Luke Danes, diner owner, overgrown grunge-skateboarder fashion misstatement, muffed that swing, too. He was just a _him_. With a nephew he didn't know how to uncle, yet couldn't send away. He made a great set-up for one of Lorelai's bits, he supposed, but a man she'd ever see _that way_? Nope.

Maybe, he sulked to himself, he was actually already on his third out, time to retire the side. Head back to the dugout. Well, the diner. After retrieving Jess from Babette's, without losing his temper at the woman's well-intended and completely annoying questions. At least he hadn't entrusted Jess to Mrs. Kim. The boy would never forgive him. And it was something of a gesture, he admitted, as he studied his toes, to drop Jess at Babette's to be not-babysat while he and Lorelai had their not-date to discuss what was probably going to be a long future of _not_. Not dating, not loving, not liking, not talking, _not_.

Agitated at the realization he might not even be able to go to Lorelai for advice on Jess, he stood, sweating from anxiety as well as August heat. The sunset flared the color of raw salmon. A color, Luke knew, Lorelai would have a much better name for, so long as it wasn't _flaming disaster_.

Evening dropped slow and lazy. Luke brushed at his t-shirt as he re-settled onto the top step of the gazebo. He couldn't help wondering if he should have worn his dress shirt and a tie. It was Lorelai, true, but the way she had said _We need to talk_ made him feel like he was about to go to court.

Lorelai appeared at last. She'd changed from her manager-of-an-inn gear into loose denim shorts nearly to her knees, and a faded blue top. Her hair was pulled into a tail, and she had scrubbed her face free of cosmetics. His heart gave a lonely, hopeful hiccup at the sight of her.

"I apologize," she said formally, sitting on the step near him. He could smell her soap. "The kids were testing their volcano again, and I got too close. Actually, Babette's _gnomes_ got too close. Lane should go into rocket science, I think the bucket's in a tree."

She was chattering to cover all the rest of her. He shut his eyes. That was not the Lorelai of their date. Or various conversations over the last few months. It was the Public Lorelai. He groaned. This was going to be a wicked curveball, the kind that broke hearts as well as batting averages. He just knew it.

"Since you're notoriously silent, I'll start…"

Words materialized out of thin air. "Would you ever leave?"

Appalled, Luke stared at his feet. He had said it. _Aloud_.

"Leave?"

"Town. Stars Hollow. This." He gestured at the twilit square, and fell silent, as he was notoriously known to do.

"I _came_ here to get _away_ from… not-this. My parents never have forgiven me for having Rory, no, for getting pregnant and not getting married, besmirching the family name." Lorelai made a face that Luke identified as _why-is-this-broccoli-near-me_. "Nobody looks twice, here. Nobody cares if her grandparents are Gilmores or Gilligans. I know people think small towns are suffocating, and yeah, Taylor is like a noose sometimes, but… Nobody cares. You smile, you wave, and that's _enough_. You don't need diamonds or a Mercedes or your name on a charity program to _count_. So…" Lorelai's sigh was weighted with a great deal of emotional baggage. "No. I can't imagine leaving. I can't explain, it's like…"

"People are people," interjected Luke gently, daring to put a soothing hand on hers, "but some people, what matters to them, drives you crazy in a _good_ way."

"Yeah."

He forced out some words. "I did love Rachel. A lot, at first. But… She can't stay and, yeah, this town makes me nuts, but it's…"

Lorelai provided, "It's nuts you like?"

Luke smiled at her shadowed face. "Yeah. Other than Taylor."

"Well, that's a given."

The darkness deepened. So did their silence.

"I wanted to strangle her, showing up like that," blurted Luke, clenching and unclenching his hands on his knees, his eyebrows a solid line of suppressed emotion. "Like she left last week, not years ago. After the diner got started. Anna… Hell, I dunno, all she is... She's her shop. Boutique. Whatever the hell it is. And her house smelled like a vanilla extract factory blew up!"

"Shh," soothed Lorelai in turn. "I get the idea."

"It was so…" He gestured hopelessly, blindly, trying to recover his rant. What had she done to his rant? She had, in their acquaintance, cheered his rant at a town meeting, although so did others, what with him telling Taylor Doose that he'd change the sign over the diner when hell froze or Taylor grew a brain, whichever came first.

Lorelai prattled nervously, "Hence the wine, it's okay, you don't owe me…"

"Yeah, I do, I lost your kid, you trusted me, and I can't get past the look on your face when you saw Anna and Rachel, and then you still gave me a shot, you trusted me with Rory, and I lost her," Luke ranted, getting to his feet to pace before his cells flew apart. Lorelai had that effect on him, and he usually enjoyed it, but he had to seize his chance before some invisible umpire yelled _Strike three_ and sent him to the dugout. "When you helped me with Jess, I mean, yeah, you're beautiful, and you're fun, and you don't let people see how smart you really are, but then you helped me with Jess…" His hands rose, fell, flew around in random patterns. "You're so much _more_ , and I _never_ show anyone that spot where my dad wrote on the wall, I _never_ take someone to Sniffy's, and…"

"Luke!"

Her voice lacked its usual melody. He jerked to a halt, drooping to the bottom step of the gazebo in misery. And he was _out_ , that was it, back to the locker room to shower (cold) and watch the replay (all night in his head) of how he blew it. The guy in left field who let the winning triple bounce off his glove and there went the series. Or something to that effect.

"People talk about you and Rachel like it's Romeo and Juliet, Harry and Sally, Lucy and Desi. Babette, Miss Patty, they all told me. You didn't." She fidgeted with something in the dark, and Luke's guilt pinged tight in his chest. "I told you about Chris. I told you how it was. I even told you…" Her voice broke. "About how other dates ended."

Luke's face burned with fury. "Yeah, well, any guy who thinks…"

"That's not the point! I told you! I never tell people that! Sookie doesn't even know all of that! And then suddenly there's this Casanova Luke I don't know existed and everyone's telling me it's you and Rachel like it's Bogey and Bacall, and she'll always come back and you'll always let her and there's no _point_ being more than friends, and I just wanted to say I'll help out with Jess. Just… If Rachel's it for you, then you need to… I can't make it work with Chris, people pushed us to get married, we were kids, and I know we'd have been a huge disaster, like that 19-oh-whatever San Francisco earthquake, but you and Rachel…"

"Lorelai," he said harshly. "Stop."

"No, I have to say this! I don't want to risk me, _and_ Rory, when it all vanishes the next time Rachel comes back," whispered Lorelai forlornly, the moreso for having no cosmetics to hide her pallor, and only street lamps to show him the scant outline of her sorrow.

Why it all rearranged in his head, Luke did not know, but it did. With the simple devastating directness of one of those disasters Lorelai mentioned, it _shifted_.

Anna of the "eclectic boutique" struck him as a cash register with a scheduled life plotted out, awaiting proper numbers to plug into the blank slots. A calculated life.

Rachel would wander until she dropped. Rachel's home was wherever her camera took her. An adventurous life.

Luke wanted a home life. Full of plans and small adventures and, yes, even Taylor Doose's presence.

Right where he had a home. And it happened to be sitting on the gazebo step, within arm's reach. Smelling of laundry and soap and potential joy.

"You don't mind my flannel," he said out of nowhere. He did not quite smack himself for the inanity of the statement.

"You could get a little GQ help, but you're a flannel guy," said Lorelai, puzzled-sounding. "I like fluffy pink bunny slippers, you like flannel. Besides, I don't think a silk-blend French-cuff button-down would last long around the grill. And don't get me wrong, I love clothes, but why are you discussing fashion?"

With food, Luke could say much. With words, he faltered. "Why Stars Hollow?"

Her prompt answer startled him. "When I was little, I'd watch TV shows where people had festivals in town squares, and diners, and little grocery stores, and everyone wore jeans and nobody drove fancy cars, and it was so much more _real_ than where I was. I know it's stupid to say that about TV, but…" She drew a loud breath, exhaled it as, "When I came to my first town festival, I felt like I'd found my home. I know that's weird, I grew up in Hartford, but it's like _this_ is my hometown, and someone finally gave it back to me, and…"

His heart a fluttery lump of goo, Luke leaned over and kissed her. It wasn't a huge success, what with the Gilmore mouth babbling away, but it did shut her up.

"Um," said Lorelai, and Luke was glad the darkness hid both their faces.

"I want to give you a happy ending," he said softly.

"I don't want a happy ending."

Luke drew back, scowling. Of all the rebuffs he'd gotten, that was the oddest. Didn't all women want a happy ending? Even most of Jess's books managed some sort of happy ending.

"The fairy tales always talk about happy ever after, but I want the happy part in the _middle_ ," mused Lorelai wistfully. "The in-between stuff. The mortgages and car repairs and sitting on a porch watching fireflies and you drink too much green tea and I have too much coffee and…"

That time, the kiss was rather more successful.

Head snuggled into his shoulder, Lorelai asked in a tiny voice, "You never took…"

His thumb rubbed along her hand. "Nope. Sniffy's is for you."

And he knew they'd have the happy in-between, and ending even, when she said solemnly, "Thank you," because she understood he had given her a valuable gift.

"Second date?" he hoped after a time.

He felt her smile curving her cheek, through the fabric of his shirt, against his shoulder. "Second date. Who'll babysit?"

GG GG GG

AN: Okay, we could go on forever, or stop at a reasonable word count. Being me… I wanted to do one tiny more little thing. Read on for the Epilogue. It's just below this….

GG GG GG

Epilogue

Eighteen months after their second date, Luke dropped flat onto the chilly ground and said, "You're sure?"

"Yep."

He rolled over to examine Lorelai's profile, sunlit and relaxed, her eyes sparkling as she surveyed the Crap Shack. It boasted a new coat of pale yellow paint, crisp white shutters, and a porch with accents picked out in dark green and deep gold. It was also somewhat larger, having been bumped out here and there. Rory's former bedroom was now a second bathroom. Both Jess and Rory had actual bedrooms, although Jess demanded his be in the converted attic space, and nobody could argue him out of it.

"We could still…"

"Luke. We are not selling the house after we put so much into it. That's a heart-investment, not a money one."

He grinned at her vehemence, taking her hand in his, and sat up. "I should've built a second garage. My dad's boat, the tools, all the…"

Lorelai's quick kiss silenced him. "Hey. We don't need perfect. This is better."

He wanted her to never regret the world he could give her. "You're sure?"

She batted her eyelashes, with a snicker. "Seriously, do you think I'm going to leave you at the altar? When we've got two kids? Why, Mr. Danes, what kind of girl do you think I am?"

"Mine," said Luke at once. Something inside him melted a little, hearing her decide Jess was _theirs_ , although law stated Jess was still technically the son of Elizabeth Danes. Luke was his guardian, no more, but Lorelai shrugged off such legal niceties in favor of doing that Lorelai thing she did. Coaxing out the mushy center of gruff and grumbly Danes men, apparently. Jess shied from all affection, unless it came from Lorelai. She alone could hug him in a big squishy mom-hug, and when he and Rory shared the chicken pox, only she could coax Jess into eating. It was only fair, Luke surmised, since Rory had kept him busy making mashed potatoes for a week. He'd never imagined sweet little Rory could be such a pain in the neck, nor that Jess would be a docile (or at least silent) patient. Parenting, he'd begun to learn, truly was as insane and crazy-making as Lorelai had warned.

He wouldn't trade it for the world. Not the chicken pox, the nightmares, the face-offs with his sister and Lorelai's parents, the gossiping town, the renovations that drained his savings, even the parent-teacher conference that meant he needed to buy a second necktie, to give a good impression. Mainly, that he owned more than one tie.

"It's a lot," he mused aloud. "House, two kids, and you're working on your degree, and at the inn, and I have the diner. Your mother might be right. We might be crazy."

Lorelai sang, "And it just might be a lunatic you're looking for."

Luke groaned, in mock despair, and nudged her shoulder with his. "I'm surprised your parents are okay with this."

"Oh, they're not okay, they hired a private investigator to dig up all your dirt," shrugged Lorelai, "and then some, but I already knew all of it. Oh, and they invited Christopher."

Luke snarled wordlessly at the name of the man who made Rory cry.

"Don't worry, he won't show up," Lorelai soothed him, patting his hand. "He never does. It's his MO. Now, what about Rachel?"

"Borneo. Or Indonesia. Somewhere like that. That was the message from her parents, anyway."

"Huh. So basically all that's left is you go have a stag party and I go have a hen party, and that makes no sense since it should be a rooster and hen or a stag and a doe…"

Luke rolled his eyes, swung her tight against him, and gave her a resounding kiss. "And in the morning, we freeze our butts off standing in front of the gazebo so your psycho mother can have her Romanov wedding in a damn nor'easter!"

"Snow is magical. We want snow."

"Nobody'll see anything but white flakes of falling crap!"

Lorelai stood, tugging Luke to his feet mid-rant. "I know, and innocent animals died for the fake fur trim on my ridiculous Scarlett O'Hara dress, and the bridesmaids will have to shove hot water bottles down their dresses to keep from freezing, but smell that air!" She took such a deep appreciative sniff that Luke had to do the same. "That's _snow_ ," she beamed, clapping her mittened hands. "Magic happens in the snow. You asked me in the snow."

"Since when does it snow in August," groused Luke, hiding his smile. He'd hired the snow machine, of course, and had to trade a free week of meals at the diner to a few people, but the look on Lorelai's face had been worth it. The moment was framed somewhere in the house, alongside a haunting portrait of Lorelai done by Rachel at some point, which Lorelai hated but Luke loved. Rachel had sent it as a black-and-white, and the sad-angry-resolved Lorelai never failed to take him back to the talk at the gazebo that ended in their first two kisses.

"And it hasn't snowed since, Mr. Wizard," pointed out Lorelai, heading for the porch. "So we got the house done in time. See? Magic! Just for us!" She spun with a gleeful, "Maybe even magical vanishing in-law powder for you! A golden retriever for me!"

"Ah geez," muttered Luke. He knew Lorelai would never end up with something as normal as a golden retriever. She might, however, find a formula for an in-law-be-gone powder. A few encounters with the elder Gilmores had Luke ready to endorse Jess's plan to build Lane's volcano in one of their toilets.

Lorelai flung out her arms. "And Jess and Rory and who knows? Lots of Gilmore-Danes DNA!"

"On top of the diner and the inn and college and kids and…"

"You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough," worried Luke as he held open the front door for her. Rory and Jess could be heard griping in the kitchen over what Jess was terming a "useless" homework assignment, while Rory insisted she'd _love_ a chance at pre-algebra.

Lorelai chattered on, "Say that again when I'm trying to walk in that idiotic dress Mom insisted I wear. At least Rory can wear her snow boots under hers."

It was now Luke's turn to play the mediator. "It got them to agree to the wedding. To show up. To call me Mr. Danes instead of 'that greasy redneck'."

Lorelai snorted a laugh, made a face of exaggerated surprise. "Oh! My mother would never ever call someone a greasy redneck! It was greasy backwards _hick_."

"Gah," was all Luke found to say. He'd have much preferred a night in with a beer, ESPN, and a quick trip to a judge or far-distant minister. Instead, he had to wear a tuxedo, deal with Taylor's complaints about space heaters on five-hundred-foot-long extension cords, and pretend he wanted a stag party at KC's.

Lorelai paused mid-fuss over a box holding their umpteenth blender. She ran a hand along his cheek. "Hey. It's okay. It's one day. That's all. One day, and then we get twenty thousand more. And if you hate it that bad, show up looking like a lumberjack. I won't care."

"I'll wear the tux," he grumped, then surprised her with a grin. "Over my thermal underwear, but I'll wear the damn tux. It's funny what you do for love."

GG GG GG

AN: Now that's the end-end. I just couldn't bear to write more angst, so fluff had to occur. Also, since both Ls are younger in this now-finished tale, I figured they'd be less set in their ways (neuroses). And, of course, it will snow conveniently during proposals and weddings. For those who don't know what nor'easters are, treasure your ignorance of that particular meteorological headache.

"It might be a lunatic you're looking for" is from a Billy Joel song.

PurryCat shout out for the in-law-be-gone idea! Woot!


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